


Happiness Without

by krispyscribbles



Series: Queen [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen, I'm Sorry, this is my first contribution to the fandom i hope you like it, this was a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 15:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krispyscribbles/pseuds/krispyscribbles
Summary: There was something about him that made Roger's heart beat a little faster.Or, alternatively, Brian May has a younger brother and Roger is whipped.





	Happiness Without

**Author's Note:**

> This was a submission to a songfic challenge; I was inspired by Stand By Me by Ben E King. it's not exactly the best but like i tried lmao

For Roger, meeting Ethan May was a religious experience, to say in the least. It had been an entirely unplanned introduction; all four of them were in the apartment, sleeping off a night of promiscuity and drinking before stumbling out of bed and into reality. Roger definitely had a wild night, given his mussed hair and shirt that was sloppily put on as an afterthought. His head pounded as he walked out of his and John’s shared room, narrowly avoiding one of Freddie’s vases as he entered the living area.

Roger noticed that Brian was sitting at their dining table, reading a magazine while stirring coffee. Brian, of course, was forced to be the sober friend, which was somewhat beneficial to the rest of the band. Seeing as Freddie and Roger were useless at cooking and John was quite possibly still drunk, having Brian be able to watch the stove and prepare breakfast was a miracle. John had had enough heart attacks regarding Freddie and Roger drunkenly cooking pancakes after a night of drinking for a lifetime.

“Rough night?” Brian turned to the pitcher that sat next to him, poured him a glass of water and slid it with paracetamol to Roger, a smile on his face. Roger smiled back, voice hoarse and raw, and took a seat. He quickly shot down the paracetamol, following it with the glass of water. Roger hated medicine. Brian gestured to the kitchen before burying his nose into his magazines, leaving Roger to his own devices. There was something suspicious with his nonchalance; usually, he’d be doting over each one and barricading them from the kitchen at all costs. Roger’s curiosity won him over and he entered the kitchen, nearly having a heart attack of his own upon seeing a man in a black monochrome outfit flipping pancakes.

The man whipped around, piercing olive eyes locking with Roger’s shocked baby blue. Roger spluttered, nearly charging at the man had it not been for his two left feet leaving him sprawled on the linoleum floor. The man turned around again, stacking the pancake on a plate, topping it with butter and maple syrup. Roger scrambled to his feet and into the other room, jumping into Brian’s lap shamelessly.

Roger’s shoulders shook as he spat out, “Who in the everloving fuck is that?!” Brian couldn’t help but laugh lightly at him, shoving the blond off of his lap. The man, whose olive eyes were lit up with amusement, entered the dining area, plate of pancakes in hand. The man gracefully set it down upon the table, handed Roger the fork, and sat next to Brian. “Brian!” Roger squirmed in his seat, finding the man staring at him quite creepy, to be frank.

Brian dug his nose back in his magazine, leaving Roger and the man in a staring contest. The man seemed to be observing him, warwick glasses gleaming in the late morning sunlight. Roger’s grip on the fork tightened, only to drop it when the man spoke.

“Ethan May,” the man introduced himself, “Brian’s younger brother.”

Roger’s brain whirred at a million miles a minute; he’d been friends with Brian all this time, but had never heard of such a person. Come to think of it, Brian scarcely talked about his family, so why was his brother at his apartment? Roger couldn’t seem to figure it out, but now that the shock had worn off, he could see how the two were related. Both Brian and Ethan had the particular May nose and lips, but Ethan had a slightly wider stature overall. Unlike Brian, whose appeal was how lithe he was, Ethan had a more rugged appearance and generally seemed to be physically stronger than his older brother. Brian’s characteristic curls were also prevalent in Ethan, except his locks were a lighter shade and infinitely shorter; Brian’s hair was its characteristic shoulder length, but Ethan’s barely touched the bottom of his ears. Roger couldn’t help but find him attractive, only to blush at the thought.

Roger dug into the pancakes to bury his thoughts, listening to Ethan and Brian talk quietly as he tried to deny his growing feelings about Brian’s attractive brother. They seemed to be quite close, given the longing tone in their voices, and Roger learned that Ethan was the same age as Deaky and had a PhD in chemical engineering, which seemed to surprise him, and that he had a steady job handling the conversion and production of raw chemicals with a massive corporation. He lived in a moderately rich part of central London, which meant that apartment had air conditioning, heating and insulation (which made Roger incredibly jealous) and that he could drive.

Roger mopped up the syrup with the last mouthful of pancakes as Ethan refilled their mugs, greeting a hungover Freddie and John as he passed. John was unperturbed with Ethan’s presence, whereas Freddie did a double take and glared at Brian, who had set the magazine he had finished reading down next to where his mug would have been. When Ethan returned, the band had congregated to the dining table, all nursing glasses of water. He sat next to John, handed Brian his mug of coffee, and quietly announced that there were more designated plates of pancakes in the kitchen.

.

Roger found that he quite liked Ethan.

Ethan was quite hospitable to Queen, especially given that he had only secured his job a few months prior to them recording A Night At The Opera. On more than one occasion, Ethan had driven up to whatever studio they were recording and sleep over, willingly doing the mundane chores like cleaning, cooking, doing laundry and keeping the mood light with Scrabble wars. Roger had felt the bond between him and Ethan grow astronomically, especially since they ganged up against Brian during Scrabble. He had also seen Brian and Ethan’s squabbles; Ethan had that stereotypical angst of a younger brother, and Brian had the general disdain for his younger brother’s angst. They had blown up at each other when Ethan had come solely for John, when Brian was being generally dickish, when Ethan accused him of cheating in Scrabble. Most times, Roger found it fascinating - Brian’s hair seemed to move with his mouth and Ethan’s ears would turn into a shade of red - but most times he’d be terrified. Despite neither man ever swinging their fists at one another, the glares and the raised voices would frighten Roger. That wasn’t to say that Roger was timid, but witnessing two people over six feet tall bite each other’s heads off would make anyone shake in their boots.

Tonight, however, they were sitting amicably with one another, eating properly for the first time in a few weeks. Sure, eating scrambled eggs and toast with bacon did get the job done, but Ethan’s culinary classes in high school and his continued pursuit of cooking was obviously superior. John and Ethan were talking amicably, both polite enough not to chew with their mouths open but talking with their mouths full nonetheless. Freddie and Brian were talking about what had happened in the studio, recapping what had happened and coming to sharp conclusions about what either of them had worked on. Roger was picking at his food, looking back and forth between the two of them and not knowing where he could join in.

Roger’s gaze drifted to John and Ethan, noting how they were locked in their own world. John’s gaze never flickered from Ethan’s, openly adding commentary wherever he deemed necessary and listening intently. There was an ease that Roger was jealous of, though he would rather die than admit to. Ethan was barely around, but John had somehow made a bond with him that Roger knew would last years later. He couldn’t help but be childish and want the same for himself. He hadn’t a clue what they were talking about, but he knew that it was riveting; John typically made an effort to include people into his conversations, but he was fully ensnared in some engineering talk. Roger felt lonely, if he were honest. God forbid that he admit it, but Roger Taylor felt so isolated despite being crammed between Brian and John. It wasn’t something that he was used to, and it was honestly making Roger a little anxious.

Roger truly couldn’t see himself contributing to conversations regarding song arrangements or engineering without feeling like a nuisance, so he dismissed himself, carrying his half-full bowl of pasta to the sink. None of them noticed when he washed his hands, poured himself another glass of water and slunk off to his room; John’s head whipped around when he heard the door click shut, but he returned his gaze to Ethan.

Inside his room, Roger sulked on his desk, nursing the glass of water. His fingers twirled the pen, notebook sitting in front of him. He had no bloody clue as to why he was acting so petulant, but here he was. It was petty and childish; Ethan was heading home come morning, not to be seen for a few weeks, but Roger couldn’t help it. He didn’t dare analyse his feelings; rather, he drowned them by writing nonsensical words, until he found himself staring at two words.

_Dear Ethan._

.

The next morning, Ethan left Queen to their own devices; they’d been drinking and relaxing the previous night, eventually passing out together on the couches. Before any members of Queen had even gotten up to take a piss, Ethan had taken anything that had a whisper of his ownership and gone. Roger was the first one up, given that he’d nursed rather than binged glasses of whiskey and beer, and he had almost screamed when he saw that Brian had his arm slumped over the back of the couch rather than his brother. He’d just stopped himself when he saw the letter pinned underneath an empty pint of beer, addressed to Roger, Freddie, John and Brian.

_Dear Queen,_

_Sorry for not waking you all with breakfast and painkillers. I have a few papers that I forgot to do that Simon had reminded me to do a few days ago via calling. Thank you for your hospitality, and I promise to come back - Deaky, remember to send me the new address - if you haven’t finished recording your album. I left pancake batter on the counter for Brian and John to cook, so good luck!_

_Ethan._

Roger scoffed and set the letter down, looking over at the wrapped bowl of pancake batter on the counter. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew that he was helpless with a stovetop and would probably burn down this rickety old house if he dared to put an apron on. Roger knew that it was probably for the best that he left Brian or John to cook, so he slunk into his room to change. His clothes had been sloshed by Freddie’s uncontrollable alcohol and now he reeked of cheap beer and champagne, which was honestly nauseating. Roger grimaced as he sniffed his shirt, peeling it off when he got to his room. He easily slid off his jeans and grabbed his towel, heading to his ensuite. His boxers were left forgotten as he showered, refraining from singing so John wouldn’t hurl an ice skating shoe at his neck.

When he emerged from the shower 10 minutes later, looking remarkably like an Afghan hound, Roger noticed that something was…off about his room. He hadn’t made an effort to clean his room since inhabiting it, but Roger had a sinking feeling in his chest when he knew that something was missing. Thankfully, all three of them were still asleep, so Roger hastily slid on boxers as he ransacked his room, trying to find what was wrong with it. All his clothes were still in the hamper, his coats were hanging, his shoes were untouched, so what was missing? Roger’s eyes darted to the desk and his heart sank; the notebook was still there, but a page was missing. He was hoping it was just Brian trying to destroy the lyrics to his up-and-coming car song, but Roger immediately knew that something more precious was taken from him. His hands shook as his eyes darted across the top line of the notebook. _Dear Ethan_ was no longer at the top.

Roger spent the next thirty minutes yelling at Brian, John and Freddie, disregarding their pounding headaches and killer hangovers. He knew he was being a dick, but that letter wasn’t meant for them to look at at all. Roger threw books, vinyls, glasses and almost threw a full ashtray when Brian cried out, “None of us were in your room last night!” Roger dropped the ashtray and John looked up from the back of the couch, knowing it was dangerous to approach Roger when his temper had spiked like that. Roger’s eyes narrowed and Freddie felt a chill go up his spine; although he tried to appear nonchalant to Roger’s temper tantrums, seeing Roger glare at them with such accusation made Freddie’s metaphorical tail duck between his legs.

Roger began to pace, gripping at the split ends of his hair as Brian, Freddie and John watched warily. The cogs were turning in Roger’s mind and he looked directly at Brian, unbridled fury hidden in his deceptively clear blue eyes. Brian looked back at him, unused to how hostile Roger could get after a rather amicable few days. Roger froze in his spot, spitting at Brian with words unbridled with rage. “Your bloody brother is a kleptomaniac!” His accusation was cutting, stinging even; last night, they had enjoyed a night of drinking and Roger was all over Ethan, kissing his cheeks sloppily and declaring that Ethan was his new best friend in place of his “rotter bandmates”. This was a complete 360 - Roger had spat the word brother with such accusation and disgust that it made Brian flinch, but Brian couldn’t find it in him to shout insults back. He hadn’t the foggiest what Roger was shouting about, but it had to have been important. Brian didn’t even get the chance to think about explaining himself: Roger had slammed the door to the house shut and stomped through the mud to the studio, pretending that his snare was Ethan’s face.

The accused kleptomaniac had been driving nonstop since leaving the farm, not daring to look at the letter that had been addressed to him. His fingers thrummed against the steering wheel of his car, classical music playing quietly. Ethan didn’t feel guilty at all for stealing that letter - it was addressed to him, after all - but there was a sort of pressure to turn around and give it back. He was aware that Roger was possessive of his things, but he had never actually experienced Roger’s temper when it came to theft. Ethan knew that stealing was bad, but he was doing a last sweep of his things in all the rooms - John and Roger loved to steal his clothes and he frequently mixed his clothes up with Brian - when he saw it. Ethan looked out the door, making sure no one was awake, then ripped it out hastily and shoved it into his jacket pocket. The jacket was in the back seat, along with his satchel and suitcase; Ethan’s hands itched to grab it.

His eyes darted to the fuel gauge, which was dipping below half tank. Ethan’s nose wrinkled at the hand pointing towards half empty. “Must have forgotten to fuel it up,” he muttered to himself, turning off to an upcoming gas station.

Ethan yawned as he rubbed his eyes, idly fueling up his car. It hadn’t cost him much; his car only used about eleven liters of fuel for 100 kilometers and with fuel only being about eleven pence a liter, using it wasn’t that costly. Fueling up gave him an opportunity to eat the few snacks that he packed as he sat in his parked car, looking out at the barren highway. It felt depressing to leave them, but work called. In addition to ongoing paperwork that he needed to pass onwards for approval, Ethan felt that he was slowing down their progress. They did tend to go off course when he arrived, given that he was the beacon of normalcy to not only Brian but to all of Queen.

However, reality called. Ethan couldn’t afford to avoid his job for much longer and Queen had an album to record, so it was for the better that he left. At least he would be able to eat his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which substituted strawberry jam with grape, in his car instead of being in the middle of another Queen squabble. Ethan’s eyes lit up when he remembered Queen; that letter was still waiting for him patiently, crumpled in the bomber jacket in the backseat. Without hesitating, Ethan wiped his hands on his grey button up and reached over to the back seat, shuffling around the pockets. The letter eventually came into contact with the pads of his fingers and was forcefully yanked, almost causing it to tear. Ethan winced and sat straight, brushing the crumbs off his lap and sliding his warwick glasses on. He uncrumpled the letter and smiled at Roger’s familiar writing, tucking a hand under neat his chin as he absorbed every single word.

_Dear Ethan,_

_I am hopelessly…_

_In lust_

_In love_

_With you._

_I cannot explain why; you of all people know that I tend to think with my cock more than my head when I see a pretty lady down at the pub. But you, with your dorky glasses and mess of curls, have taken my attention. As I write this, my heart is stewing with something akin to jealousy and my eyes are unseeing as I speak only honesty despite it being poison on my lips. I hope Brian doesn’t hate me if he sees this._

_You are so unspeakably handsome. I cannot fathom it. When I try to grow out my facial hair, I look rather ratty: you, on the other hand, look rugged and undeniably attractive. Deacon, who is quite possibly straighter than your older brother, has told me that he finds you (objectively) attractive. Maybe it’s because you are rather fit. Brian often envies you for your more muscular state, but personally it’d be terrifying to have a bloody bodybuilder-guitarist-astrophysicist in a band. I’m much happier to have you away from the band._

_You make me feel normal. Even if it means deflating my ego and righting my wrongs with a lecture, you keep me grounded. I am no more than a drummer, a songwriter, a singer and a friend. I’m no God, even if Freddie cheering on for me makes me feel so. You treat me like I’m still Roggie, clown and resident idiot, and not Roger Meddows Taylor, rock god. It makes me feel like I haven’t a barrier between me and the world._

_You’re just…perfect. You are more than just smart and funny; you’re just so complex that I can’t find the words to say them. I want to understand you in the way Brian does; the knowing looks and the ability to read each other as though you were one and the same. It makes me yearn for someone to understand me in that way._

_I love you and I fear that you don’t love me back in that way. I want you to be in my life to make me humble and know when I’m wrong. Even if this isn’t received well and you’re bloody repulsed by me, I hope that one day, when everything is magically better, it’ll be you, me and the rest of Queen against the world._

_Yours,_

_Rog._

Ethan felt like crying.

.

Driving back to London felt wrong. Ethan wanted to tackle this problem headfirst, to make amendments and return to where it was before. He knew that he didn’t love Roger in that way; not only was he straight, he saw Roger as nothing more than a brother. He couldn’t find it in himself to resent Roger for being attracted to him; no matter what, Roger would be his confidant, partner in crime and, most importantly, his friend. Despite that, Ethan felt bad for not returning Roger’s feelings. It was obvious that Roger was infatuated with him. Roger loved him.

Should he have even stolen that letter? Would willful ignorance have made this building guilt cease to exist? No. Ethan had taken his course of action and it would only mean honoring himself and Roger to carry through with it. Even if it hurt and would make things between them awkward, Ethan had to carry through with his actions.

Scenarios played through in his mind as he drove home, but none were satisfactory. They all resulted in Roger being hurt. It wasn’t until Ethan was cooking dinner that he realized that it was an inevitability that Roger would feel negative emotions. Ethan hated seeing Roger not being Roger, but if he wanted to be truthful, he had to do so. It was better than lying to him.

The pasta was overcooked.

The next day, Ethan’s mind was distracted. Work was nothing more than busy work, occupying his thoughts in place of his guilt. Thank god he didn’t need to do practical applications; all he had to do was read through contract after contract, highlighting particular points of interest so his boss wouldn’t have to find them himself. Lunch was a BLT in a baguette; he had grown to associate the flavor of peanut butter and jelly with guilt and had flung the corresponding jars to the back of cupboard in disgust. Brian had called him at lunch, informing him that his jacket was in the back seat of Ethan’s car and Roger was in possession of Ethan’s jacket. Hearing Roger’s name had sent a chill down his spine and he abruptly hung up, wishing Brian good luck and gulping down water in hopes of cooling the burning sensation that had settled over his heart.

Things didn’t get much better from there; Queen was due back in London for a few days as a transitional period and they had forgotten to pay rent and utilities, so Brian begged his brother to let them stay at his apartment. It wasn’t like he was lacking space - he lived alone in an apartment with two moderately large rooms, a bathroom, a laundry and a spacious kitchen that was sparsely decorated and bleak in its color: his walls were either light grey, white or charcoal grey. By all means, he was perfectly capable of housing four guests for a few days. So what was he resisting? Was it the idea of having Roger around? He had no idea, but he knew he made the right decision when he said yes.

One would think that the four members of Queen would be moving into Ethan’s apartment due to the sheer multitude of their stuff that they had brought. Brian had confirmed they were staying for four days as they moved all their stuff to another studio, but Ethan couldn’t help but feel that they’d ‘accidentally’ leave their things here for a few months.

Moving was a messy affair; no one was here to help them move their stuff in, so for the majority of the band’s Saturday back in London, they unpacked their crap. Ethan winced when Deaky accidentally knocked his guitar case into the wall, scratching the paint, and gave a haughty glare when Brian had dropped his loaded suitcase on the hardwood floors. Roger and Freddie were surprisingly delicate with their things. Maybe it was the embarrassment or the fact that they were intruding on their best friend’s brother’s house, but they silently put their things in the spare room. Unlike Brian or Deaky, they didn’t bring in anything remotely musical and, unlike Brian, they didn’t demand for anything. Ethan knew that they were being polite, but it felt weird that Brian was asking for a kettle and some of the tea he had left behind here as though he had lived here while Roger, Freddie and John dismissed any of his queries about their comfort.

When everything had set up, dinner was ready and A Clockwork Orange was on the television. The five men were sitting on the couch, holding bowls of instant ramen. Ethan was sitting between John and Roger on the big couch, Brian and Freddie occupying the armchairs, and everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen. For some reason, Ethan just couldn’t get into the film. Despite it being one of his favorites, he was distracted at the fact that Roger and John were both leaning on him: John was doing it solely for comfort, but Roger was seeking something more than just comfort. It made Ethan uncomfortable, if he was honest. The stewing guilt and how Roger was oblivious to his internal debacle made his body temperature rise and he stood to his feet, quickly dismissing himself to his bedroom. Thankfully, they’d arranged for him to keep his own room, so Ethan sank into his bed, trying to breathe. Trying to conceal his feelings was suffocating him, but he’d rather not hurt Roger when he was meant to be hospitable.

Thankfully, no one bothered him about it.

No one bothered him for the following three days; they were set to leave on Tuesday night and Ethan trusted Brian to not let his apartment go to shit, so he went to work on the third and fourth days of their staying. The boys mainly walked around or slept, recharging their musical batteries. No one bothered him when he wrote heavily in his room; they prefer playing scrabble among themselves or going out and spending time alone. It was an oddly domestic arrangement, but it filled Ethan’s apartment with a warmth that it lacked. It was comforting to see other people that he trusted take residence, even if it was only for a few days.

It stressed Ethan to see those days whittle to hours and then to minutes; Tuesday evening was fast approaching and Miami had dialed the flat to make sure that the boys knew that the van would be coming around at eight. All of them spent the afternoon together, enjoying the sun as they shopped on Carnaby Street. Brian indulged himself in ice cream, unable to deny the heat that made his skin uncomfortably warm - he had bought four cones of ice cream within an hour, scarcely sharing it. Roger, of course, grumbled at Brian and had bought a tub of ice cream to split among the four others. Freddie and John ended up buying their own separate ice creams when Roger scowled at Freddie for snatching it out of Ethan’s grasp, but it was an otherwise undramatic affair.

Their departure was nothing more than a farewell; Brian had informed him that it wouldn’t be more than a month of them left recording until they came back to London, so Ethan would rest assured that he wouldn’t need to drive up again. They had told him that they’d leave their things in Ethan’s apartment for safekeeping but would eventually return to pick them up, so they left with nothing more than their suitcases and whatever musical instruments they brought inside. John and Freddie clapped him on the shoulder, thanking him for his patience, and headed out to the elevator. Brian followed them and gave Ethan a quick hug, yelling at Roger to hurry up and get his ass to the front door. A disheveled but cheery Roger appeared soon afterwards, giving Ethan a tight hug and handed him a £50 note in apology for shattering two vases and a cup in the four days he stayed.

“No need for that, Rog,” Ethan said, handing it back to Rog. Roger pressed it further into his palm and kissed his cheek, practically sprinting out of his apartment to where Brian was standing. Ethan held his cheek and shut the door, sighing at the disarray of the apartment. They hadn’t caused a complete mess, but it was still messy by his rather nit-picky standards. He couldn’t find it in himself to clean up when he thought about the letter that stated his flat-out rejection that waffled on for a page and a half. He had stashed in the coat that Roger was wearing, realizing only when he left that there was a possibility that Roger would lose it.

Seriously, they had to find a more ergonomic way to send letters.

.

Time changes people. As experiences become more enriched and people develop, it is inevitable that things change. Ethan knew firsthand how things could and did change for him; Brian had shot up into the rock world as a near-immediate legend and had gone from scraping by to living in luxury within a few years. He had found a partner who made him feel treasured and her name was Evelyn Blackthorn. Her father was Irish and her mother was Dominican and she was raised in France: she was the love of his life. They’d gotten married six months after meeting one another and they lived in a rather spacious home in Central London, where they raised their two sons, Lars Alexander and Jacob Meddows Blackthorn-May: the latter was three years younger than his brother, whose fourth birthday had just passed.

Both of them were Evelyn and Ethan’s sun and moon; their father’s olive eyes shone with brightness, only dimmed by the mess of curls atop their heads. Even when they threw tantrums and refused to eat, Ethan couldn’t think of himself not being a father. They were expecting another son in June and Ethan knew that Evelyn would let him choose his son’s middle name.

He was thinking of Orion to commemorate Brian’s passion for astronomy.

Queen had become a common household name, especially when they started the 80’s off by releasing The Game. Ethan was immensely proud of Queen and shamelessly blasted it in his home (much to the annoyance of Evelyn). He and Roger had patched things up and he had given his second son, nicknamed Jack, Roger’s middle name. It had been an immense honor for Roger and he’d taken to visiting: so much so that he was nicknamed ‘Uncle Roggie’ by Lars. Jack could only follow along with vague blabber that was a desperate attempt in communication; he had turned one on the cusp of May, so it was understood that he couldn’t exactly form sentences. Roger loved talking nonsense to Jack and Lars, even if the latter complained and declared himself to be a ‘big boy’.

Brian joked about Roger being more of an uncle than him, but he couldn’t help but admire how detached Ethan was from him; he had forged his own life and saw Queen not as a vessel for his own exploitation but rather Brian’s happiness and satisfaction. His younger brother, who had followed him wherever he went when they were boys, had boys of his own. Sometimes he couldn’t fathom how the boy who was lost in the stars grew to be the man he was today, but he was damn proud of him.

Hungry journalists asked him for interviews and some took photos of him due to his relationship with Queen. Sure, it angered Brian and made him want to fight those pesky journalists, but it was inevitable that they’d drop him, Ethan had reasoned. As predicted, they grew bored of Ethan and moved on, harassing others who were the mildest of acquaintances to Queen. It brought him satisfaction to know that no one even knew his birthday and that’s how he wanted it.

With all these ups and downs, Ethan couldn’t help but think that his life was going the way it was supposed to. Even though Brian would get the spotlight,

Ethan was happy cheering from the sidelines.

Ethan was happy to live in his brother’s shadow.

Ethan was happy.

_He could only hope that Roger was too._

**Author's Note:**

> Lars Alexander Blackthorn-May was born on September 17th, 1977, to Evelyn and Ethan Blackthorn-May.   
> Jacob Meddows Blackthorn-May was born on April 30th, 1980, to Evelyn and Ethan Blackthorn-May.   
> Douglas Orion Blackthorn-May is due on the 6th of June, 1981. 
> 
> krispy-posts.tumblr.com
> 
> (additional author's note to follow)


End file.
